


I Was Always Alone

by Jamesy



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Poor Prompto, Teen Noctis, Teen Prompto
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-19 16:24:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11317188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jamesy/pseuds/Jamesy
Summary: Hidden in Prompto's hesitant words atop the Motel are tiny pools of pain and disappointment that had long frozen over into frigid reflections of his loneliest memories. He tip toes on top of them when he speaks to Noctis careful that at any moment he might plunge boots-first into those suffocating moments. Noctis never really knew how Prompto lived all those years. He has no idea what Prompto had to do to get by or what kind of "friends" he had made. But maybe... maybe it was time to let him know. No, maybe he shouldn't... after all, how could he tell Noctis that he wasn't there for him when he was at his lowest?





	1. "You Just Wouldn't Understand"

_“Feels just like yesterday.”_

__

__

_“You should have said something sooner.”_

_“Oh Noct... You just wouldn't understand.”_

```  
“YESTERDAY”

Prompto gripped the phone in his hand tight enough that he could feel the plastic back cover warming up his palm while his knuckles pushed tiny trenches into his lips. He pushed his back against his bedroom wall and pulled his knees in closer to his chest. As his knee moved in, so did his elbow resting upon it and it pressed his knuckles deeper against his chin and lower lip.

Somehow, it made him feel better to feel the tightness around him as if, right now, in this state, while his mind was moving—moving but not directed anywhere but almost everywhere; like he was falling—something more confined, something closed and cold seemed almost familiar—almost safe. As if a vague memory of a place where he could close his eyes and hold himself against the cold also meant safety. Like he wanted to return to that place where he didn't have to be out here... alone.

But however much his body wished to remember such a place, it wasn't where he was now. His bedroom was quite familiar, but he felt like he was in an alien place. Like he had to run—like he had to leave. It's why he needed to just press the call button. He just needed to look back at his phone and press the little green portion of the display and maybe he could leave this place—the place in his own head that was all shade and coiling constriction... Yeah, the phone could be a way out, right?

He couldn't believe the phone started ringing. It was as if he was half dreaming. What the hell was he going to say? Even as the other end of the line was connected, he just now began to realize that he was calling the heir to the Kingdom of Lucis at two in the morning.

“..Prompto?” came the groggy voice from the other end croaking with the pain of consciousness. Prompto wasn't quite sure it was real. It sounded like Noctis, but suddenly it was like he wasn't sure anymore. He wasn't sure of so many things right now, but did Noctis actually pick up? After all, that other kid—he should be asleep. He's usually always asleep. Try to wake Noct up in class and it's like trying to raise the dead. It's probably the single reason they both nearly failed first year Lucian literature; Noct couldn't stay awake that early in the morning and he was just a terrible student overall. So this can't be right. Noct shouldn't be answering for anything.

“..Hello?” came the voice again. It was definitely Noct.

“Hey,” Prompto replied back so quickly that his voice cracked. He tried to cough to try again, but his throat was dry enough to start a fire and it chafed to even speak. He had forgotten exactly how long it had been since he was sitting there in total silence. 

“S—sorry for calling.. I—...” His voice quieted to a hush though he wasn't quite sure why he was whispering. It wasn't as if anyone else was in the house—no one's been home aside from him for a month now. Well, except for tonight—if tonight counted. “But I... um... could we talk for a bit?”

“Kind of late...” he could hear Noct groan a bit on the other end. The sound changed, too as if Noct was talking out of the side of his mouth. Prompto grimaced. It was exactly as he thought. This! This was the reason why he didn't want to call. Astrals, it's only been a month since he worked up the nerve to approach Noctis at school and, yeah, sure they hit it off pretty well, and they've been spending a few days out of the week just to hang out, but he's never done this... He's never had to bother him. He could feel his heart in his chest swinging about in an emptiness like a lone pendulum in a void beating out a low thud heavy with something that was quickly losing all of its heat to the emptiness.

“Sorry,” Prompto repeated a bit more high pitched this time, but he swallowed and kept going, pulling himself tighter together as if to gather the last bits of warmth of himself to reignite his resolve. “I just...” He didn't know how to say it. How could he say it? It's a lot different over the phone. But what else could he do? Ask Noctis to meet him in person? No way. Even talking now even if it was over the phone should be impossible. And would it be easier in person anyway? Would it be easier if they could both see each other? The thought of it made him wince. “I just...” he kept going despite the constant assault from his own thoughts. “...I needed...” some help? Is that what he was going to say? Prompto stopped himself cold.

Who was he to ask the prince for help? There was a sudden fear that gripped him and held him from saying anything more. I needed to talk to someone. No, that's so pathetic. Why would a prince ever want to be friends with someone who says something like that? Noctis doesn't do “talking.” The objections kept piling up and the weight pushed Prompto's shoulder closer to his knees. “Couldn't we just... talk for a bit?” Prompto wasn't sure what he just said. Maybe he just couldn't believe he said something so stupid and selfish. He felt like the floor underneath his bent legs had given way and now he was unfolding into a freefall somewhere down below.

He heard Noctis groan again on the other end of the line. He grimaced, frantically trying to find some kind of explanation—something to say that would try to cover up his idiotic request. Maybe he just wanted to say sorry and hang up, but he was already there—he was stuck halfway between these two poles electrified by wanting to run and, at the same time, so very afraid of Noctis telling him to go.

“Alright... what's going on?” Noctis interrupted his panic. The voice had changed again: it was no longer the half muffled sound, but achieved a fuller clarity, though the coarse grogginess had not left. Prompto suddenly felt a tug forward as if Noctis's words caught his breath giving him a line to pull himself upward. He pressed his phone closer to his ear nearly searing the side of his face from the heat of the device against his cool skin and he dared to smile just a little bit for the first time since this evening.

“I... I've been having a really rough night,” he managed to say, this time a little louder than a whisper. He still could not believe that Noctis had gotten up to listen to him speak and he felt like a Griffon catching a warm breeze to rise into the sky. He didn't know where to start and it took him a moment to compose himself, but he pressed his mouth closer to his phone as if trying to enkindle the words through the heat from the screen touching his lips.

“You know about my...” he paused, pulling the whole of his body closer together, but, again, he channeled all of this energy into the direction of the phone trying to push out all of the anxiety and pain through his voice resonating in defiance of the chilly winter night. “...you know about my... friends, right?” he managed to finish blazing through the entirety of the thought as quickly as he could before anything else could block his way. Nonetheless, it still made him grip his phone tighter as if the very thought of bothering Noctis with this was breaking one of his ribs and he needed to hold onto the phone as the only line upward—to a place where he could not lift himself out of due to his own injury.

And yet, while these thoughts swam in his mind and the pain flashed across is freckles, there was no answer from the other end. He knew the phone didn't disconnect: he could still hear Noctis breathing, but, still, no response.

“Noct?...” Prompto called out quietly.

“Sorry... sorry...” the words came quickly from the other end as if they were slingshot through the air. “I'm just dead tired today... They had me with Ignis all evening after school for tutoring stuff... and prepping for that upcoming event or whatever at the ambassador's office on Monday...”

Prompto was falling again. That feeling of his stomach lurching up against his lungs was stronger than before and he felt his limbs slacken. “Hey, it's cool,” Prompto was quick to say. It was like there was something in him that took over. His voice was smoother than usual kicking up every syllable like it was a dance accompanied by a smile. It was polished and refined; a pirouette he's done so many times before especially as he's practiced it with the prince over the past month. “You're always so busy,” he added while he faked a smile to make sure that the words that came out were impeccably camouflaged as a joke instead of a complaint. He even flourished it with a tiny laugh. That hid any trace of a longing. “Maybe I should just let you sleep.”

That was the only crack in his otherwise practiced strategy. He said “Maybe”. He usually would just have said “I should let you sleep,” with a laugh and a jab, but right now, for some reason, something inside of him was trying to add this “maybe” along. The same kind of “maybe” that would fit into the thought of “maybe you could help me, please?” or “maybe you're the only one who could right now.”

It was like his mind had been given one last chance, through this phone call, to solve things a different way tonight. As if someone inside the court of his brain had come up with a new idea. “Call Noctis,” this mysterious adviser had said. But there was no King there that sat on the throne. Instead, long ago, the Jester had been the only one clever enough to protect the throne and he had allowed this one little gambit. But now, now that Noctis couldn't even stay awake, that Joker-Regent is having this little thought of calling Noctis arrested, but there was one last attempt. A message in the bottle. A “maybe” sent by this one desire even despite the Jester's crackdown. “Help me, Noctis, you're my only hope!” the Jester in Prompto's mind would have mocked it.

“Yeah... I'm not much help right now,” Noct admitted. Prompto wasn't sure why he was smiling at that—even if Noct couldn't see him. He was smiling an empty smile like the way the moon's light brightens but feels so very cold. His face was an up side down crescent beaming nothing but chill into his room. The edges of his lips were pushing against his cheeks as if at any moment, if he stopped his tiny grin, the top of his face would collapse. No, he needed the smile; it was bearing the load. 

“We're still getting together Tuesday, right? Do you think you could be okay till we talk for our usual?” Noctis asked.

“Yeah, totally, dude,” Prompto lied automatically. He chuckled through the prison of his teeth locked in that grin. “I'll see you Tuesday.” Of course it would be Tuesday, Prompto thought, the Prince is usually busy on Mondays. He can't blame him, it's royal affairs all through the weekend so of course he'd be busy tomorrow and Sunday, too. What was Prompto even expecting? The chuckle, then, was also for himself. For being so stupid.

He didn't even say goodbye when he turned off the phone, nor did he suspect Noctis wanted to say goodbye either. Instead, he felt a strange kind of frigid energy animate his bones. He got up. There was this constricting feeling that radiated out from his chest as if his heart was pumping needles instead of blood and they were painfully tearing holes into every part of his body. His arms, especially, felt hollow. But he kept moving anyway. He knew he had to.

He took what was left of the ice out of the freezer—there were maybe only three cubes left after the others had used most for their drinks—and wrapped it carefully around a little hand towel he had gotten from near the sink. He was meticulous about tying it as if he was quietly hiding away a tiny treasure that no one but he could appreciate.

The light in the bathroom stung his eyes and he squinted at first at the intensity of the glow. When his face finally came into focus in the sink mirror, he sucked in his breath and, with that same frigid and almost automatic resolve, he lifted the little pouch of cold to his face and flinched slightly when it rested on the bruise that circled his right eye. The three cubes wouldn't last long, but he needed to take care of himself with what little he had. Even this little bit would be enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoyed the very first chapter to my very first fic ! I've only ever written original fiction before but I -- well .. let's just say that playing through FFXV moved me (especially the friendship dynamics) so I felt that it was time to write something based off of other characters . I'm very new to this site so I'm trying to avoid any faux pas so I beg your indulgence as I navigate my way around .
> 
> I'll be updating this as regularly as I can as well as starting on a more ambitious project in a little bit . Any and all comments welcome !
> 
> I also wanted to thank Asidian for encouraging me to write . I was partly inspired by their impeccable Prompto voice . And , I suppose I should give a wink to my real life handsome sleeveless photographer who rather inspires a lot of my recreational writing these days .


	2. “I Had No Friends—At Least Not Real Ones”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all of the comments and support for this debut piece ! I was a little behind posting this and it ended up being longer , but hopefully better , than I expected . I am very excited to hear what you guys have to say about this chapter !
> 
> This has been a fascinating experiment for me in trying to put my emotional content into a fanfiction and it's been great so far . This chapter in particular was inspired by my usual handsome , sleeveless , photographer muse and when you're reading this , I'm sure it's obvious how it relates to us .

“THE DAY BEFORE YESTERDAY”

To say that Prompto was nervous about tonight was the understatement of the century. Right now, as he surveyed the little living room, his eyes were darting to every little fixture and every piece of furniture as if at any moment he might detect a small hint of something embarrassingly out of place. What once was just a comfortable secure sanctum for him became a minefield of curled up tension. He was continuously moving around, pushed forward by the racer's pace pulsing through his veins, adjusting and attending to every detail he needed to “fix.” With only thirty minutes left, he was almost completely done with all of the cleaning.

There was only the matter of the stain on the sofa; the one which would probably not come out with any of the detergents he had on hand. Even now, as he stared at it, the once familiar oval shape had taken on a different meaning. Although he had seen it countless times before in the waning gold of the afternoon light, the pounding of blood in his forehead seemed to highlight the stain in a different way. 

The small mark on the sofa was no longer a quirk of his childhood experience. It was no longer that slightly crusty spot that he, in his younger years, had once pretended was a maelstrom along the ocean of the couch where his brave sea adventurers—represented by his toy sailboat—had to navigate around. Now, that spot was there to act as witness against the accused. It treacherously whispered into the air “slob” and “messy” as if his boyhood imagination was now held hostage by a cruel adolescent mocking the once fat boy's eating habits. 

He moved one of the pillows to cover up the dark eddy and yet—even as he did so—he felt a pang of guilt as if he was squelching a story that would be forever lost and forgotten. The silent pleas of a young boy crunching into a hamburger and letting the sauce spill out the side, slopping onto his fingertips as the only sensation of warmth he's felt since he had hugged his parents begging them to stay. As the spot was eclipsed by the pillow, he realized quite suddenly that he was also closing the door on that boy.

No, he was right, he reassured himself. He had to be right. Tonight, all of that is going to be forgotten. Tonight he's going to experience what it's like to be the new Prompto—the one that could make friends. He didn't need make believe companions on long journeys across the oceans anymore. The silent boy, round as a sack of rice, awkwardly drooped over on the edge of the couch with the television glaring across his eyeglasses would have to take a little break from being in Prompto's thoughts.

But a part of him protested. This part of him had been protesting all afternoon during his preparations. Each time he had tucked away those past photographs of himself there was a part of him that didn't feel ashamed at all. No, if he admitted it to himself he might have said that he had been proud of those images. There was something in each photo that spoke to him, although he couldn't make out the words and it tugged at his face.

Was this some kind of joy? He was only aware that he was smiling as he looked at the glossy sheen of the images. He was also keenly aware that he felt his face stretch downward into a frown as he placed each photograph away. He knew he had to hide them, but he wasn't sure why he had this secret compulsion to show someone anyway. Yet he knew that he couldn't. His parents, through all the years, never really reacted to how he had changed. No one, in fact, had ever commented on his transformation. So it couldn't be something to want to show friends. They wouldn't be interested. Who would want to see images of a heavy boy? He had to scoff at himself and shake his head as if he needed to make some noise to distract himself from the silence of the downcast boy standing awkwardly in each photograph unable to keep his stomach fully underneath his shirt. No, tonight he would be the new Prompto; the only one left: the one who survived.

```

Prompto loved the way Orso laughed; even if it was rather loud. Still, he loved the sound of it. The cadence; the low rumble when it starts and then the crescendo when that boy would tilt his chin back and all that dark hair shook like rafters during a hurricane. Prompto loved being caught up in it—loved the way the sound broke through the silence of the room and carried him away from the empty waters that he had been treading all throughout the week of just endless blandness. He would get caught up in the laughter himself, allowing it to pick him up off of his seat and push him through the warmed up air with Orso leading the way.

When he would land from the laughter, he would be panting and found himself feeling this sudden and inexplicable surge of energy within him. It was like a burning sensation prickling all along his skin as if someone was tapping on the freckles along his face and shoulders like piano keys. His leg would not stop moving up and down even while he was sitting on the edge of the table opposite where Orso was leaning back on the couch and all he wanted to do was run around, flailing his arms into punches to the sound of the music pumping in the room. He just wanted to keep smiling. The sustained movement was a whole different sensation from all of these previous years.

He wondered about it once: about why it was that all throughout primary school he had no energy; always sauntering just barely faster than the sun moving across the sky on his way home. It took a wounded puppy, the perfume of a lady, and the brooding shadow of a prince to get him to start moving. He would smell that letter from Lady Lunafreya every time he felt himself flagging; every time he felt some new obstacle that stopped him from his routine. But even that fragrance faded away like the autumn leaves, but no new letter came to refresh the scent. The emptiness lasted like a perpetual winter. Still, however, he was adamant. Prompto memorized the last bits of the fragrance etching it into his mind and sustained it by a behemoth of a will that resided in that little boy's chest. He continued on, even when he was weighed down by the fading of sensation and all he had was the willpower that was present for as long as memories would last.

And it worked for a little while. The photographs were proof of it. As he had grown taller, he had thinned out as well and even his muscles boasted curvature that maintained his boyish frame and yet spoke of that inner strength. He marveled sometimes at how he could lean on one hip to another watching as his sides pushed in one direction and then the next and the tiny valleys where one muscle ended and another began cast different shadows. And it was this that propelled him to finally approach Noctis.

Those first few meetings had been a whirlwind of excitement that seemed to bring that original rush of Lady Lunafreya's letter back. Prompto finally felt as light as he thought he looked and Noctis was a buoy of consolation every time they spoke with the familiarity of old friends. And yet, even this seemed to leave him feeling more empty than before. He really couldn't understand it. He was doing what was asked of him. He was staying by the side of the Prince; he had worked hard for it. And yet, there was this uneasy feeling. 

It was every time they said goodbye. Noctis was busy—of course the heir of Lucis would be busy—and it meant that they could only see each other a few times a week. It was the way the Prince's eyes looked every time they parted. As if Noctis didn't react at all. Or at least that's what Prompto thought. Prompto was never good at reading faces and Noctis was a study in ambiguity. But it certainly made sense. Princes have princely distractions and Prompto tried to resign himself to simply being another slot of time in the Prince's busy schedule. Except Prompto couldn't seem to resign himself. Every time they parted, he felt a pain that clawed at his insides like a caged coeurl. 

“It isn't enough,” he might have said. But of course he wouldn't. He would never say something like that to Noctis. Who was he to make demands? After all, there's probably something wrong with him. Why would he want to spend so much time with someone else? Noctis obviously gets by fine without wanting to spend more time with him. It's obvious it was something wrong with him, then. So every week he suffered, forcing a smile on his face even at the farewells for Noctis's sake—the prince shouldn't be bothered. But then the days would go by that there would be no communication and Prompto felt that the little flame that was ignited when they saw each other in school was put in a glass case burning defiantly before exhausting all of the trapped air and going out into a cloud of smoke.

In some ways he envied Noctis. Not because he was the prince, but because Prompto wished he could be okay with being alone. Sometimes he couldn't hold it in. He'd text Noctis about almost every little thing that was happening to him. He would complain about how the salad he bought was soggy today. He would send over photographs he took of an old building that had been colonized by cats. At first, Noctis seemed responsive, but—just like that envelope pulled out of its box far too often—Noctis would grow quieter and quieter until it took days before Prompto would get a response from anything he sent. Nowadays, he texts with hollow fingers knowing full well that even if someone is listening on the other end, he'd never know about it. And sometimes Noctis would send him something in return and it would be just enough—just enough to keep him hanging on, but all he could see in those small responses is the density of effort. “You're forcing him,” the voice in his mind would say. “Don't force him; he obviously doesn't want to.” He knows how much Noctis gets drained even at school; he could see it in every class. So ever since last week he decided to stop draining Noctis with his messages.

But now, it seemed as if something else was giving him fire. Every time he gets a text message from Orso, he felt himself ready to jump over the city wall. 

He had met Orso at the beginning of Freshman year. It was a strange first meeting. Orso had been sitting on some bleachers while Prompto was making use of the track field for his afternoon exercise. Orso had actually come up to him—something which seemed very alien to Prompto—and asked him for a race. Prompto wasn't exactly sure how it was that he was able to agree to it despite how flustered he was, but he felt a strange sense of urgency to say yes. Like there was a promise in those oceanic eyes eager to challenge him. Prompto might have lost that race, but he felt better for it.

Racing almost every day was how they became friends and it helped Prompto gain that last bit of confidence to finally approach Noctis. When those first two weeks with Noctis went so smoothly, it really showed in the large surge of energy that Prompto suddenly had. Even his races with Orso became closer and closer. It was one race in particular, after just meeting up with Noctis for a late lunch, that Prompto felt like he could beat Orso. But that was also the race he fell into the grass.

Prompto wasn't quite sure what had happened. Orso kept apologizing that he had slipped and slammed his shoulder against Prompto's. Prompto accepted that apology. When Orso offered to have Prompto push him back if it made him feel better, Prompto just stared at him crookedly. He wasn't sure if he was just disoriented after the fall, but he couldn't seem to make sense of the situation or sense if Orso was joking. He felt like he should have said something, but he decided that it was probably just an accident.

He thanked himself a week later that he didn't make a fuss about it. It was during those empty periods in between seeing Noctis that he was glad to be spending time with Orso—even when Orso began introducing him to his other friend Nivalium. Niv was a dour kid and, honestly, he scared Prompto at first. Actually, who was he kidding... that kid still scares him. In some ways Niv reminded him of that driver Noctis always has around but Niv never seemed like he was doing it out of duty to anything; he was just... Prompto couldn't think of a clever way of describing him, but he definitely agreed with Orso when he described Niv as “edgy.”

Nevertheless, Prompto couldn't help but feel some alleviation in Orso's laughter whenever they would hang out. It wasn't so long after that that he felt like he could answer why he had been feeling such ups and downs.

The answer came to him while photographing a dog he knew on his runs near his house. It always seemed so tired and listless resting against the warm window of a bakery along the river walk while the afternoon sun reflected off of its fur which was the colour of a wheat field. It had all the light and nature that it could want and its coat was beautiful, and, yet, its eyes were like an embassy of midnight in the daytime sun. One day, Prompto had approached the bakery to take a closeup only to have the owner ask him, with a rather shrewd smile, if he would like to pet “Largo”. Of course he had said yes with his own smile that was so large and sudden it had surprised the owner into a reactive laugh.

When Prompto had put his hand forward, Largo took a little sniff of his fingertips before quietly nuzzling against Prompto's palm. Prompto laughed a little at the cool softness of Largo's nose before allowing his hand to be tickled by the smooth fur on the dog's crown. It was ever since that day that Prompto would visit every time he was on his run and it was throughout that whole month that Prompto noticed the change in what he thought was a lazy dog. Largo even started running with him up and down the river walk and might have followed Prompto home, but the young runner made sure to always lead the dog back to the bakery. The owner, however, didn't seem so surprised. He told the young man that Largo had always been an energetic dog, but ever since the bakery started getting older customers as the riverwalk was being developed, no one seemed to want to pet him on their way to work lest they get fur on their suits.

It was this memory that made Prompto realize how much he loved Orso's laughter touching him. When he was younger, Prompto thought he was one of these people that was comfortable being alone, but ever since Largo and Orso, he realized that he had mistaken numbness for comfort. In fact, he had a reservoir of energy inside of him and, for some reason, it could only be ignited by someone else's warmth. It's why ever since meeting Orso, he took more and more photographs of people. He wanted to always be around people.

And it was for this reason that he had agreed to let Orso and Niv into his house tonight. It was for this reason that he let them bring their bottle of gin and raid his freezer for ice cubes. It was for this reason that, although he hated the tarry slice of the spices running down his throat, he agreed to take a few sips. It was a mistake that almost made him puke, but he held back his complaint because he didn't want Orso to go home yet. He didn't want to be alone tonight.

“I'm tellin' ya Nivvy, Celestina is the babest of the babes,” Orso howled. He leaned forward messily nearly slamming his half filled drink of gin against the tabletop near Prompto, totally missing the coaster. His long, black hair swept across his face curling a little near the tips so that they seemed like scythes rushing across his forehead. He gave Nivalium a deadly stare. “You can't say you disagree!” he murmured with a threatening groan.

“I'm afraid I have to,” Niv replied.

“Come on. Hey, even Prom thinks I'm right, don't you, Prom?”

Orso's eyes turned to witness Prompto with his mouth still recovering from the laugh he enjoyed earlier, but Prompto could already feel the grip on that smile crumbling. Even though Orso's question was innocuous... there was something about his questions that always made him feel uneasy like when your barber asks you a question while they're cutting your hair. Like moving in the wrong direction might hurt.

“Yeah,” Prompto forced a little laugh, “sure, dude.”

Orso scowled which forced Prompto's eyebrows to flinch for a split second. There was a little awkward silence, but Orso pulled himself up from the couch suddenly. Prompto, instinctively, rose as well almost as if ready to apologize, but Orso had cut him off.

“Hey, you said you had some games we could play in your room, right?”

Prompto lit up again this time practically hopping to show them down the hall to his little room. He must be talking the whole way through since he didn't even remember turning on his console and letting the screen flicker on. “A little bit of King's Knight?” Prompto asked as he rolled out one controller for himself that's so weatherworn that the X and O have already half faded while the other two are absolutely pristine. Prompto didn't bother to mention that he used his monthly allowance just to buy them earlier that day. “I'm pretty good with all of the characters so you guys can pick first who you wanna play.”

“Ehh... I'm kind of in the mood for something more... competitive. How about some of the online Arcade games?” Orso proposed.

Prompto used his smile like a shield while his eyebrows drooped a little. “I don't really have an online account...” he explained shakily. “Can't really afford the subscription fees.” He could already see the disappointment on his guest's faces. “Most of my games are single player or co-op,” he explained, even though he's never had a chance to try out any of the co-op modes yet. “But King's Knight has a versus mode if you wanna try it out?” he offered desperately.

Orso and Niv exchange a look and Orso could only shrug. “Yeah, sure,” was the flat response. Prompto doesn't really notice, he's already moving into the settings and changing things around.

```

By the fourth match, it's pretty clear that Prompto has the overwhelming advantage over the other two. Prompto could sense it, too. By the second duel, the complaining had stopped and it was mostly quiet. He tried to coax them to play the co-op mode but Orso insisted, rather severely, that they keep going. It was after the fourth duel that they stopped playing and Prompto was trying his best to hold a conciliatory smile.

“Why don't you sign up for just a month of the Arcade, I think their first month is free,” Orso asks. “Then I can show you what it's like to go up against me on a real game.”

“I... kind of already tried that when I first got the console,” Prompto explains weakly. He feels like he should just stop talking. He hates how it's like every word he speaks is a disappointment and all he could see is the confirmation on Orso's face.

“Just sign in on your account,” Niv says with such an intonation that it was like every word had him rolling his eyes.

Orso's face lights up again and for a moment, Prompto forgets all of that heaped on disappointment. “Then let's play some Niflheim Battlefront first,” Orso announces enthusiastically.

```

Prompto was loving it. His eyes somehow just naturally felt attuned to every movement on the terrain. The crosshairs flowed as naturally across his portion of the screen as if he was holding the Rapidus SMG himself. Every time he was eligible to upgrade to a hero, he would just decline. Who needed to be a mechwarrior when he could just roll around on the battlefield with such agility and cunning that he could never be caught. No one could get close to him as his bullets fired with such accuracy that the headshot counter kept flashing SS+ on his side of the screen.

By the time they stopped, he didn't realize that it was already almost midnight. He was so full of laughter and excitement that he didn't notice the looks Orso and Niv exchanged. He was still bubbling over with a smile when he responded to Orso calling him over back to the living room and he gasped too late when his foot caught the edge of Niv's boot and he tripped forward. He was headed straight for the floor of the living room, but he had reached out to the doorframe at the last second and swerved an arc sideways before slamming into Orso, pushing the other boy against the wall and knocking Orso's phone out of his hand. The whole tumble was so quick that Prompto didn't hear the click of Orso's phone camera activating nor did he see the little grin on Orso's face before it had turned into shock during the collision.

By the time Prompto got up, he was already apologizing for being so clumsy and he tried to help Orso up but he was shoved aside. “What the hell, man?” Orso growled, but he wasn't even looking at Prompto. Instead, Orso inched over on all fours to where his phone had landed with the screen marred by a spiderweb crack. “What the hell?!” he repeated.

Prompto was frozen against the wall. He saw the device. Somehow, despite the pain of his shoulder from where it had collided with the wall, all he could think about was Orso looking back at him with eyes framed by his black curls. Prompto looked at the broken phone in that other boy's hand and stared at it feeling, somehow, that he couldn't look back at Orso.

“I—I'll pay for the repair,” Prompto pushed through. He had to push through. He was pulling himself up from the wall. “There's a place down the street that might still be ope—”

“Let's go, Niv,” Orso grunted. He started to make for the door, but Prompto found himself breaking free from the freeze and stepping forward and coming up beside him.

“I'm sorry—” Prompto pleaded. It at least stopped Orso. “I don't have the cash on me right now, but I'll definitley pay for it, just... I'm sorry, Orso.”

“Are you really?” Orso replied as he turned around. Prompto couldn't help but tremble when the other boy stared him down.

“Yeah,” Prompto replied even if there was a hint of hesitation.

“Well you know our rules, then,” Orso exchanged a glance with Niv as he spoke.

Prompto lowered his eyes staring endlessly onto the floor below. Again, he hesitated. Why did it have to be this way? All night he seemed to be enjoying himself, but now... He messed up. He really messed up.

He took his phone out of his pocket and offered it forward, his eyes still a bit downcast staring instead at the dark colours of Orso's shirt.

“Naa,” Orso grunted again. “My phone's a Cosmo 8, man, do you know how much these things cost? I bet you don't even have anything in here that gets that close.”

Prompto flinched.

“He does, actually,” Niv chimed in. “Did you see his camera in his room?”

Prompto would have gasped, but everything seemed like it was going in slow motion. He felt like he was running in a dream because it always seemed like those other two boys were moving much faster than he could sprint even though they were just walking into his room. He couldn't say a word. Nothing was registering in his senses anymore. Instead, it was like this steel blade was running through his hands piercing his muscles every time he tried to move forward. Because was this really happening? Were they really reaching out for his camera? His arms were trying so hard to reach for them. He wished he could say something. Because he just wanted them to stop. All he wanted from them was to be able to laugh again but their fingers were tangling around his camera as if they would choke it. He wanted to beg, but would they listen? No one was listening anymore.

When the punch hit his face he knew he gasped because he felt the sharp knife of air strike his vocal cords. It must have been when he was struggling against Orso's shirt and pulling him away from the camera while his other hand was shoving Niv aside. The punch landed hard enough that Prompto lost half his vision. The camera was dropping anyway since Orso had let go of it in order to land the attack on Prompto's face.

Prompto and his camera must have hit the floor at the same time. Maybe if it had been the harder floor of the living room, something might have cracked, but the padding of the bedroom just made the device roll harmlessly towards the dresser. It wasn't the camera any longer that drew Prompto's attention, however. It was the kicks.

He wasn't exactly sure how many hit him. It was no use trying to count. Maybe the physical sensation didn't hurt as much as just the impossibility of the situation right now. Orso and Niv were shoving their boots into his side and his eye was still stinging with pain. Even the new Prompto couldn't do it. Even the new Prompto couldn't make friends. The new Prompto and the old Prompto can't make it anymore.

So in those moments, he had to be someone else. In that moment, something like an old memory returned to his mind. Something like the screaming of that behemoth in his chest reverberated throughout his body. Because despite all of this. Despite all of this! Despite all of this he wanted to go on! Even if Noctis ignored his texts and even if his friends betray him, he has to keep going! He needs to keep going!

He wasn't sure where he had learned to grab Niv's leg like he did nor where the roundhouse-from-the-floor came from, but it staggered Orso. A quick jab and an elbow to Niv's abdomen forced both of the boys into a tumble outside of his room. Prompto rolled from his position on the floor and swept his heel underneath Niv's ankle forcing him onto the floor before leaping up for an uppercut into Orso's gut forcing a gutteral gasp out of the other boy.

The two fled. They might have limped away, but they fled with such fear that they weren't caring about the pain. They had swung the door open so quickly that it swung back shut with equal force slamming a punctuation to the strike of midnight that forced Prompto onto the living room floor. The cold floor on that winter night was the only balm for his bruises on his side for the moment. Despite the cold, however, his face was all heat and constriction, especially around his eyes. The sensation of heat passed down from one eye, across the bridge of Prompto's nose, and pooled with the bruised other eye before gliding a hot streak down to the floor.

```

“TODAY”

Noctis let himself smile—just with the right half of his face, of course. His legs dangling over the edge of the building felt a little lighter and he let out an exhale that only worked to widen his smile as he leaned back to place his palms on the roof. His shoulders became two little mountains that cradled his neck and head in the valley in between. He looked up at the stars and traced the constellations with his eyes. There was something in him that felt glad about the conversation he just had with Prompto. He really meant it when he said that he was happy to hear Prompto get all of that off his chest.

However, it was this that disturbed the little smile on his face. He started to look down again at the artificial constellation of the little waystation vigilantly presenting an earthly mirror of the astral dome above with its many bulbs across the buildings. Prompto let everything out and, sure, Noctis had responded as best as he could to help his friend, but... there was something else. All he could think about right now was the memory of his father. “I fear I have left too much unsaid,” runs through his memory like a far off note wafting through the wind.

Noctis lowers his gaze, the bitterness of the memories collapsing his eyebrows against his eyes. But it isn't just the pain of the loss; he's had quite a few nights to deal with that recurring burden, but it's also what was lost in the words unsaid. His father had tried to say something to him and... and he wondered now... wondered really if he had stayed for a few more minutes there on those steps—if he had just spoken to his father like a son would, would his father have said something more?

And here, Prompto spoke to him, too. And while Prompto tends to speak his mind, it's usually about the things happening all around him and rarely shares those inner thoughts that bother him. But Prompto and Noct share that same “defect” if it could be called that. Noct is like his father in this way, too. Too many things unsaid.

Noctis pulled himself up from the edge and turned to where Prompto had just walked a few moments ago. As he takes a few steps forward he feels some pang of shame. Prompto had honoured him with the courage to say the things he was afraid to say and here _he_ was playing the royal prerogative of holding back what _he_ needed to say. No, it wouldn't make for a good King to let his retinue go where he's afraid to. So he turns the corner of the building to where the stairs are, hoping to come down to find where Prompto went.

But he stops at the top. There, in the shaded side of the building with only the dim light of the diner across the street offering relief in the darkness, Prompto can be seen still standing halfway down the stairs almost like a statue. Those bare shoulders catch the light like two pillars of ivory while his head is drooped down somewhat hiding the golden crown that he wears. Noctis assesses the paused figure ahead of him wondering what's stopped him. But he reminds himself that he's not there to observe any longer. He has to speak.

“I told you not to stop halfway,” he says. It must have startled his companion since Prompto turned around quickly. Noctis starts descending the stairway as Prompto gives some kind of automatic laugh seemingly embarrassed at being caught just standing there. “It looks like you were holding something back,” Noct continues, not letting the situation slip by him. Prompto averts his eyes uneasily all but confirming things. For a moment, Noct does the same, but he forces himself to look forward again. Prompto's shown enough bravery tonight. It's his turn.

“It's okay,” Noctis speaks up. “I've been holding back, too.” Prompto looks back at him at those words. “Let's continue this in my room tonight. Properly.”


End file.
